Amyntas scratched his head, and presently an inspiration came to him.
The parson had been hunting, and he was sitting in his study in a great oak chair, drinking a bottle of port; his huge body and his red face expressed the very completest satisfaction with the world in general; one felt that he would go to bed that night with the cheerful happiness of duty performed, and snore stentoriously for twelve hours. He was troubled by no qualms of conscience; the Thirty-nine Articles caused him never a doubt, and it had never occurred to him to concern himself with the condition of the working classes. He lived in a golden age, when the pauper was allowed to drink himself to death as well as the nobleman, and no clergyman's wife read tracts by his bedside....
'Well, my boy'--he never spoke but he shouted--'so you're going away? Well, God bless you!'
Amyntas looked at him expectantly, and the parson, wondering what he expected, came to the conclusion that it was a glass of port, for at that moment he was able to imagine nothing that man could desire more. He smiled benignly upon Amyntas, and poured him out a glass.
'Drink that, my boy. Keep it in your memory. It's the finest thing in the world. It's port that's made England what she is!'
Amyntas drank the port, but his face did not express due satisfaction.
'Damn the boy!' said the parson. 'Port's wasted on him.' ... Then, thinking again what Amyntas might want, he rose slowly from his chair, stretching his legs. 'I'm not so young as I used to be; I get stiff after a day's hunting.' He walked round his room, looking at his bookshelves; at last he picked out a book and blew the dust off the edges. 'Here's a Bible for you, Amyntas. The two finest things in the world are port and the Bible.'
Amyntas thanked him, but without great enthusiasm. Another idea struck the parson, and he shouted out another question.
'Damn your father! What's the good of a guinea?' He went to a drawer and pulled out a handful of gold--the tithes had been paid a couple of days before. 'Here are ten; a man can go to hell on ten guineas.'
'Thank you very much, sir,' said Amyntas, pocketing the money, 'but I don't think I want to go quite so far just yet.'
'Then where the devil do you want to go?' shouted the parson.